---- From chapter 21 ----

D: So...
W: Now that you guys are together....
J: Hoes don't do it
D: We have some receipts we'd love to share with the class
T: Wait no
T: Dickie don't
W: "have you ever looked at Timmy and just gasped a little at how pretty he is?" - Jay
J: FUCK
D: "his jawline could honestly murder me. Who allowed that prick to have such a nice face shape. Fuck him." -Timmy
W: "I JUST WANNA KISS HIS STUPID FUCKING FACE AND HOLD HIS HANDS WHAT THE FUCK" -Jay
T: Awwww
J: This is slander
D: "Honestly if being thrown to the ground means I can touch Jason's muscles then who the fuck am I to refuse that honour" -Timmy (on multiple occasions)
W: "Do you think Timmy knows how cute he is? Cause It should be fucking illegal. Like ok Timato your eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky and your voice sounds like havens harps or something WHATEVER" - Jay
D: "His dumbass hair just looks so soft I just wanna run my fingers through his hair and tell him how much he means to me" - Timmy
W: And the best one...
J: HOE I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOUR TYPING DONT FUCKING DO IT
W: "I know Timmy and I didn't always get along and sometimes we still don't, and I'm still kinda new to this whole "place to call home" thing but honestly I could wake up to him of them every morning and then have nice quiet mornings watching him have three cups of coffee and smiling across the table at me and what I'm trying to say is I love Tim Drake so much you might as well call me Conner Kent" - one Jason. Peter. Todd
J: I'm coming to your house and I'm killing you and all your plants.
D: The best you say? Are you forgetting;
D: "You never realize how you feel about someone until they're staring you in the face with a look that makes you think maybe it doesn't matter that you didn't get to watch that whale shark documentary after all" - Timmy
T: iM tHroWinG mYseLf OfF a BriDgE

----

Tim didn't realize it was morning until there was a politely potent knock high against the solid mahogany wood of his bedroom door. Usually, Alfred let him "sleep in"- which they both knew really meant "lay in bed unable to get up for hours"- but today his thickly British voice resounded from the out in the hallway, "Master Timothy-"

"I'm up, Alfred," he answered back, dazed, before Alfred could finish, hearing his own voice distantly as he came back into reality. He winced when he realized he'd cut Alfred off, so he added, "thank you," to the end of his sentence.

"Very well, sir," Alfred said back, not sounding upset at being interrupted, "breakfast is prepared and awaiting you in the main dining room." Tim opened his mouth to decline, the idea of eating anything far-off and unappealing, but Alfred went on before he could say anything, adding, "Master Bruce has requested your presence," and sealing Tim's fate.

"Right," Tim sighed, clearing his throat and repeating himself more clearly, "right. I'll be down in a minute."

Alfred didn't say anything in response, and Tim let his head fall back onto his pillow as he heard the butler's footsteps growing farther and farther down the hall. He rubbed his eyes, looking at the phone in his hand and really seeing it for the first time in hours. His screen was open to TikTok, and he closed it to the home screen before he could get lost in the repetitive motion of scrolling dumbly for hours again, then pressed the power button on the side twice. According to his lock screen, backed by a picture of Jason looking vaguely annoyed in the direction of the camera, it was 7 am on a Saturday. Odd, he'd been sure it was Friday.

He brushed his hand across the bedsheets to the left of him and found the other side of the bed to be cold. Jason had had the fourth watch last night, then. He was probably already in the kitchen eating all of the breakfast sausages he knew Tim liked.

Tim plugged his phone in as he swung his legs out of bed, allowing the device to charge at least a little bit while he got dressed. The floor was cold against the soles of his feet and it sent a chill up to the back of his neck. Dully, he resolved to bagger Jason into investing in a rug as he tried to place why Alfred had called him out of bed before noon.

It occurred to him as he was wrestling with a pair of black skinny-jeans and trying to brush his teeth at the same time after he spotted a freshly cleaned suit hanging on the back of the bathroom door; Saturday. The wedding.

He hooked his fingers through the belt-loops of his jeans- the same way Jason did when he wanted to tug Tim closer- out of nervous habit as he wandered down the closest staircase between his room and the dining room. Already he could hear the morning chatter he usually slept through drifting through the halls, the crescendos and diminuendos of Jason's voice familiar in the cadence of conversation.

"If your gonna use stupid fucking logic like that, then I could argue that cereal is a fucking salad," Jason was saying, as Tim drifted through the doorway, his chair pushed away from the table with the two front legs lifted off the ground, bracing himself with his foot against the edge of the polished table. Alfred must have stepped out then, for Jason to have been in that position long enough to get comfortable.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Jay!" Dickie argued back immediately, "Soup is a liquid dish with another ingredient inside a broth." He lifted his bowl of cereal up for emphasis, nearly slopping some milk over the side. "The cereal is the ingredient and the milk is the broth, therefore, soup!"

"And a salad is just an assortment of foods," Jason snapped back, glaring up at Dickie sitting above him on the table with his legs crisscrossed. Even still, Tim felt Jason's eyes on him as he loitered in the doorway. "The cereal is the meal and the milk is the dressing! Fuck you!"

"Language boys," Bruce chided lightly without really looking up from where he was sitting next to Clark with one leg over his knee, sipping coffee at the far, far end of the table. Tim started in their direction, where a plate was set out for him, chasing the taste of caffeine. Bruce gave him a wary look as he approached, cautions about Tim's actions this early in the morning after Tim started a sentence with "by the way," and revealed something shocking one too many times. "By the way, I'm moving in," had been funny, "By the way, I know who the Joker is," had been less so.

"What do you eat cereal with, huh?" Dickie argued back, loudly, waving his spoon at Jason and flicking droplets of milk at him, nearly knocking over one of the candlesticks in the centre of the table, "A fucking soup spoon!"

"Are you saying you put the cereal in before the milk, then?" Jason went on, talking louder over Dickie's protests, "Because that's how fucking soup works- unlike in a salad, where the dressing goes on after."

"What's a six-letter word for Strips in geography class?" Clark asked lightly, unbothered by the scene on the other side of the room, peering down at the Gotham Gazette's Saturday crossword as if the answers would fill themselves in if he looked hard enough.

"Isthmi," Tim answered back distractedly, fiddling with the warm coffee mug between his hands, still focusing on the argument between Dickie and Jason. Mostly Jason's argument. Even more specifically the way Jason's lips moved as he argued. Ok, he was focused on thinking about kissing Jason.

"TIMMY," Dickie and Jason both snapped at the same time, and Tim nearly choked on his coffee.

"Yes?" he asked, blinking and trying to focus look deep enough at their body-language to decipher if he'd zoned out and missed anything. From the looks of it, they wanted him to weigh in on their argument.

"Soup comes from the Latin word "suppa," meaning to absorb liquid," he said, knowing it didn't have any real bearing on their argument. They both devoured the fact into their debate immediately, arguing about the ramifications. Jason gave him a viciously pleased grin.

"Two fives, in Reno?" Clark wondered out loud, fidgeting with his glasses in his free hand, "7 letters, starts with an H."

"Hardten," Bruce answered before Tim could. Clark scribbled the answer into place, finishing the crossword off and rolling up the newspaper in front of him. Tim grabbed the closest corner and pulled it towards him, unfurling it so that he could read the re-printed Far Side comic. Tim took another long drink of his coffee as his eyes flitted over the single comic panel. It was the one with the duck, and he took a moment to appreciate finding the meme in the wild.

Bruce reached across the table to ruffle his hair as he stood, and Tim glanced up, about to ask him where he was going when he remembered the wedding again. He glanced down at the plate of food in front of him. Perfect sunny-side-up eggs because Alfred knew he didn't like the yolk, two slices of crisply fried ham, and a few bites of hashbrowns on the side. It smelled delicious and managed to make him hungry and nauseous at the same time. Bruce had paused in the doorway and was watching him. Jason was looking at him too, so he gripped his fork tight and shovelled a few bites into his mouth before he pushed his chair out and stood up from the table.

"Bruce, let's go over the seating plan one more time," he said, swallowing thickly. Oh, right. He was helping plan the wedding. How could he have forgotten? Whatever- he'd been sure it was Friday, but apparently he had less time than that, he had to make sure he'd actually finished all the tasks assigned to him.

Bruce gave him that weird "concerned parent" look he was still trying to get used to and stepped a little closer. Tim tensed, and Bruce paused, placatingly, making eye-contact with Clark over Tim's head.

"Okay, kid. Let's go take a look." Tim nodded, grateful, and Bruce leads him out of the dining room and into his office.

----

Located on the thirtieth floor, the reception was in full swing. Jason honestly couldn't remember the name of the expensive venue, only that it was supposed to be the peak feature of Gotham's newest glittering highrise hotel. One more skyscraper to fuckup the horizon, Jason figured.

Honestly, he resisted scoffing, turning around and leaning against the railing of the terrace where he was imprisoned by a red rectangle on the floor and a sign marked "smoking zone." It was more country club than anything else, every wall made of glass or mirrors and every table pushed intimately close. Everywhere he turned he almost kicked over an enormous and overflowing plant.

The wedding itself hadn't been bad; he'd met Wonderwomen, who he was pretty sure was wearing a sword in her dress. Other stuff happened. Bruce's tux was some custom-made Desmond Merrion tuxedo cut from vicuna and qivuik, 9 buttons of 18-carat gold and diamonds and literally tailored to perfection. Clark's clearly cost significantly less, obviously the happy middle between whatever mish-mash of an off-the-rack suit jacket and never-tailored slacks he wanted to wear and whichever Italian cut Caraceni in midnight blue, wool-silk blend; London three-piece charcoal business suit with a silk tie and gold cufflinks Bruce put together on the first try.

The reception, though, might just kill him.

His phone was buzzing like crazy in his pocket, and he flicked his half-finished cigarette over the edge of the balcony. He wouldn't have been able to finish it anyway, not before Bruce or Clark caught sight of him, at least. And if that happened, well, there was only one escape route left from where he was, and he wasn't sure he was feeling stupid enough to fall forty stories and attempt to stick the landing.

He drew his phone out of the pocket of his own slacks, stopping to check the time and glance at the picture of Timmy, lips parted slightly with a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth, that was his lock screen. He unlocked his phone, still buzzing even as he opened the messenger app. Of course, it was the group chat. Dickie had been bemoaning all day about how stressful it was to have to look less attractive than the people actually getting married.

D: So...
W: Now that you guys are together...

Jason found himself typing without really thinking about it.

J: Hoes don't do it
D: We have some receipts we'd love to share with the class
T: Wait no
T: Dickie don't

Timmy replied, and Jason's eyes shot up, scanning the room. Last he'd seen, Timmy had been nervously laughing his way through a conversation with the best women and groomsmaid, Wonderwomen and some reporter that Clark worked with. He hadn't wanted to interrupt, and Timmy looked too damn good in his suit to only watch from afar, so he'd stepped out for a smoke and some air.

He caught sight of Roy, wearing a nice over-priced Brioni piece, a two-button single-breasted suit with sloped shoulders and a high waistline perfectly balanced with the lapel width and the jacket length. He was loitering near the champagne, the definition of a subtle alcoholic. Though, with the way Dickie looked in his own suit, slacks custom made to accentuate his legs and jacket framed by a strong shoulder line and sharp, peak lapel, and detailed with eye-catching gold buttons, Roy couldn't exactly be blamed for drowning his third drink in about as many minutes. Combine that with the fact that Wally was wearing something out of either Dickie or Roy's closet. The height differences between them making him think Roy's, but considering it was an Ermenegildo Zegna piece, Dickie had definitely been the one to pick it out, and Roy was doomed.

Jason couldn't help but crack a smile, though, remembering that Tim had deviously placed Wally and Roy on either side of Dickie, rather than putting Roy at the singles table.

Wally looked delightfully out of place, and Jason had been enjoying it all night. Dickie was perfect in his choice of suit, the cupro satin lined wool pinpoint blazer in check pattern with tones of navy throughout looked upsettingly good on the ginger, but he kept forgetting if he had put something in the flap pockets at his waist, or the welt pockets in the interior, and it was amusing to watch him pat himself down every time he needed his phone.

Right now, he was struggling to play animal crossing on an old DS and type on his phone, and Jason glanced down at his own screen just as Wally pressed send and was suddenly dragged out of his seat to dance with Dickie.

W: "have you ever looked at Timmy and just gasped a little at how pretty he is?" - Jay
J: FUCK
D: "his jawline could honestly murder me. Who allowed that prick to have such a nice face shape. Fuck him." -Timmy
W: "I JUST WANNA KISS HIS STUPID FUCKING FACE AND HOLD HIS HANDS WHAT THE FUCK" -Jay
T: Awwww
J: This is slander

At least six people, fumbled their own slow dances when Dickie joined the floor, and Jason wasn't close enough to see but he was fairly certain Wally rolled his eyes. Jason suddenly understood by Bruce had given Dickie the first patrol, making him leave in the middle of the reception. Dickie's eyes were bright with wedding glee, and with the way he was looking at Wally, it looked like they'd been planning another wedding far sooner than Bruce- who kept insisting Dickie had to graduate first- was prepared for. And both of them were still texting. Unbelievable.

D: "Honestly if being thrown to the ground means I can touch Jason's muscles then who the fuck am I to refuse that honour" -Timmy (on multiple occasions)
W: "Do you think Timmy knows how cute he is? Cause It should be fucking illegal. Like ok Timato your eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky and your voice sounds like havens harps or something WHATEVER" - Jay
D: "His dumbass hair just looks so soft I just wanna run my fingers through his hair and tell him how much he means to me" - Timmy
W: And the best one...

Jason realized he'd looked away from the group chat for too long, and when he glanced down at caught up, saw the three dots signalling that Wally was typing, he smashed out his own message so fast it was a miracle he didn't make any typos or smash his screen.

J: HOE I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOUR TYPING DONT FUCKING DO IT

Wally, of course, ignored him.

W: "I know Timmy and I didn't always get along and sometimes we still don't, and I'm still kinda new to this whole "place to call home" thing but honestly I could wake up to him of them every morning and then have nice quiet mornings watching him have three cups of coffee and smiling across the table at me and what I'm trying to say is I love Tim Drake so much you might as well call me Conner Kent" - one Jason. Peter. Todd
J: I'm coming to your house and I'm killing you and all your plants.
D: The best you say? Are you forgetting;
D: "You never realize how you feel about someone until they're staring you in the face with a look that makes you think maybe it doesn't matter that you didn't get to watch that whale shark documentary after all" - Timmy
T: iM tHroWinG mYseLf OfF a BriDgE

And, ok, maybe Jason's frown let up a little bit when he realized that Timmy had forgone a whale shark documentary for him, but it definitely wasn't worth being exposed in the group chat. God, Timmy was gonna start to think he liked him or something.

Admittedly, Jason's life was more complicated than he'd ever thought possible. For starters, up until a year or so ago he was sorta-dating Timmy as his good-guy alter ego, and definitely-sleeping-with Timmy without the mask, and then with it, and Timmy had no idea. Only Timmy actually had many ideas and knew the whole time, which means Jason spent a lot of nights in meaningless turmoil; counting cigarettes instead of sheep, or something equally poetic or whatever. The point was, Timmy was a dick and Jason loved him. Or whatever.

"Yanno, Bruce is gonna ground you if he catches you smoking again," Tim said, appearing at Jason's side. God, he looked good in a suit. Out of all of them, Tim had gotten the luckiest, getting away with just some slacks and a sleek black vest over a white dress shirt rather than a full suit.

"I'm not smoking," Jason replied easily, hooking his arm around Tim's boney hips and pulling him closer, resisting the urge to steal him away and make a mess of him somewhere private.

"You were," Timmy accused, his hands reaching deep into Jason's pockets and retrieving the loose cigarette he had stored away there. It was a little crinkled, but if he'd brought a whole pack he would've smoked all night. Tim slid the cigarette behind his ear in the name of confiscating it. It was hard to tell which of them was more addicted.

"And you were watching me," Jason accused, eyes narrowing.

"Mmmaybe," Tim conceded, looking away, hiding his face against Jason's shoulder. Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I was looking for you."

"I know."

Tim nipped lightly at Jason's neck, and Jason huffed lightly, "How drunk are you?"

"Like, not even," Tim replied, voice muffled. His skin was hot against Jasons.

Jason looked up at the stars above them for strength, or many just to look at the stars. The universe was set to a station that was inoffensive if forgettable. Tim was absolutely gorgeous, and for all Jason was aware the reception ended a month ago and he's been existing in Tim's gravity ever since.

Jason cleared his throat, even though he didn't really have to.

"Clark," he started. Tim didn't say anything. Inside, just visible within the crowd, Clark turned in their direction slightly, showing he was listening. Jason went on, "I'm gonna take Timmy up to our room, we're done for the night." It was only 10 pm.

Jason laced their fingers together, pulling Tim with him out of the red rectangle, edging them through back into the room. Just before they entered the hall again, Jason paused.

"Oh, and, Clark," his hand tightened around Timmy's, "congratulations. Or whatever."

Clark gave him a smile from across the room, and Jason continued leading Tim out into the hall and eventually to the elevator.

Tim leaned against him as they listened to the lyricless elevator music, "Do you think there'll be a whale shark documentary on?"

Jason glanced down at Tim out of the corner of his eye, just to make sure the other wasn't falling asleep, but then found himself unable to look away. Tim looked tired in the white elevator light, his skin deathly pale and dark bags weighing down his otherwise youthful face. Love and hate had melded so tight together under his skin that they had woven into the notches of his spine and he heard it creak every time he stood.

"Yeah," he answered, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind Tim's ear, out of his face, before he leaned down to kiss Tim, "I think we'll be able to find one."